


Unfinished Business

by Lysandra



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysandra/pseuds/Lysandra
Summary: Five years after the Demon Revolt, Kitty Jones receives a phone call that will change the course of her life yet again. In the days that follow, she learns that bonds between humans and spirits can appear in the strangest of places.
Relationships: Bartimaeus & Kitty Jones
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Kitty Jones was not one to feel sorry for herself.

She’d been through enough tragedy to know that self-pity was worse than useless: it made you weak. Kitty Jones was not weak. So when she got the letter inviting her to the memorial service, she ripped it into tiny pieces, tossed those pieces into the fireplace, and spent the rest of the day at the library. She wasn’t going to go and watch people fawn insincerely over the late John Mandrake. John Mandrake had been a complete and utter twat. It was Nathaniel that Kitty wanted to honor, and she would have to do that alone.

Nathaniel had died, and Bartimaeus with him, embodying a unity between humans and djinn that Kitty was now prepared to devote her life to. Besides, it was what Ptolemaeus of Alexandria would have wanted, and Kitty couldn’t help but feel that she owed him one.

But where to begin?

Kitty started with the book. Ancient Greek was difficult, but nowhere near as bad as she’d been prepared for. It wasn’t substantially worse than Latin, and the books she borrowed from the library laid out the rules in orderly tables. When she finished the last page of the  _ Apocrypha _ , she flipped back to the beginning and started again. Shortly after her twenty-first birthday, she purchased a moleskine notebook, labelled it  _ Apocrypha - Eng _ , and began her work. When she wasn’t translating, she was in pubs, muttering in the ears of commoners who showed interest when she spoke of the true nature of djinn.

Despite their recent representation in Parliament, there was still very little transparency when it came to magic. The remaining magicians were loathe to give up the thing that had built their Empire, and the secrecy they wrapped about it was essential. It was this that had Kitty holding commoners’ education groups away from the eyes of the officials, pointing out lines from books she wasn’t supposed to have and sketching diagrams on a handheld blackboard.

“The first thing you need to know,” Kitty said at their first meeting, “is that you’ve been lied to.”

The people in the room hummed and nodded in agreement.

“The second thing,” said Kitty, “is that this Empire is built on the backs of slaves.”

Quiet noises of confusion and annoyed disbelief. Several people waved their hands, wanting to speak; Kitty ignored them. She allowed the tension in the room to rise almost to a breaking point, and that was when she pulled out the book. It had a thick, black cover. “Don’t listen to me,” she said. “Let them tell you in their own words. This book here is one of the first that new apprentices must read. Let’s see what it says.”

They all stirred in excitement. One woman glanced anxiously at the door.

“Is that real?” asked a teenage boy.

“It’s real,” said Kitty. “Here we go.  _ The nature of demons is that they will always resist captivity. _ That’s interesting. What else might we find in here?”

Then she read a few more sections about binding and controlling spirits, about their tendency to fight against their masters, even lines that explicitly referred to the pain that their enslavement caused them. By this point, she was arousing quite a stir. The quiet confidence that had taken root in her since her journey to the Other Place served her well here; she knew she could change minds. And even if she was wrong, she still had to try.

It was the book of punishments that did it. She introduced it by lifting it up, letting the dark red text on the cover catch in the light. She found herself thinking that Bartimaeus would have been delighted by her showmanship.

“This is a book of punishments that magicians use when the spirits they bind disobey them. Do you want to know what they are?”

Of course everyone did.

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have chosen the very nastiest ones to read aloud; these were the spells so horrible that they weren’t often used, not when there were less barbaric options that were just as effective. A young woman emptied her stomach into a nearby bucket; several other people fled the room. It was, all in all, a highly effective teaching tool. Nonetheless, not all were convinced.

“But they’re demons,” protested an older man, arms crossed. He had been standing near the door the entire time, occasionally rolling his eyes.

“And what makes them demons?” Kitty asked.

“It’s in their very nature,” he replied.

“And who told you that was their nature?” Kitty prompted. The man was quiet, shaking his head.

“The magicians!” someone called out. Several others murmured in agitated agreement.

“Precisely,” Kitty said. “Do you remember? The first thing you need to know is that you’ve been lied to.”

In the evenings, Kitty returned home and worked on her book by lamplight. The translation was the easy part. The hard part was getting it published. That and writing the dedication. Kitty was lucky to be friends with one Harold Button, and by extension acquaintances with all of his associates.

She was twenty-two when she received her copy of the book. “The Apocrypha: Ptolemaeus of Alexandria; Trans. Kathleen Jones (with annotations)”. Holding it in her hands, she made a mental checkmark. That freed her hands to invest more time directly in her cause.

She needed allies, she’d realized. That was the main thing; she couldn’t do this work alone. The few commoners she’d managed to recruit to the effort were just that: commoners. They weren’t prepared to fight. Put up posters, yes, but that wouldn’t count for much if the push to end summoning turned into a revolution. What they needed was solidarity. But how was that possible? If Bartimaeus hadn’t been convinced, what were the chances that others could be? And could she possibly be justified in persuading spirits to join her cause when they’d already suffered so much? Was she actually helping them, or just playing the savior, bursting in with her naive ideas to drag them through the mud?

She settled for the intermediate step of writing a series of inflammatory letters to Parliament, who insisted that the use of demons was, at least for now, still completely necessary. Furthermore, they argued, her comment that their treatment was “inhumane” was nonsensical, as demons were not, in fact, human.

This exchange culminated in a formal debate with the new Prime Minister, a woman by the name of Piper. Piper had the upper hand in that she was highly educated where Kitty was not, but Kitty had fifteen years of experience in verbal combat. The fact that she’d won the debate was proven handily when she narrowly fended off a number of international assassination attempts, at the end of which she decided that perhaps taking a break from London would be wise, and she packed her things for a trip to mainland Europe. She had to do more research, anyway - London didn’t house the only library in the world.

But it was more than that, too. Since the Revolt, Kitty had found herself restless. Living in one place for years on end now seemed insufferable when there was so much out there to see and explore. She’d return, she was sure. But for now, her trip was indefinite.

She thought that heading south sounded nice.

That was how she ended up in Hungary. The stipend she’d been provided by the British government would pay for a hotel room. Not a nice one, but Kitty was comfortable with squalor. She was doubly comfortable with the relatively laxer laws surrounding access to magical materials. She had begun to turn her eyes to the incorrigible problem of the hybrid spirits who had survived the Revolt. The smarter ones, Kitty thought. They knew how to cover their tracks well enough to evade capture, and the number of djinn who’d perished upon being sent after them was reprehensible. This effort had been spearheaded by Jane Farrar, now unquestionably the most powerful magician in the government since the Revolt. But it was apparent to everyone that the incident had changed her: she was jumpy, slinking around corners like an alley cat, and prone to disappearing for months at a time. She hadn’t even been seen in London until almost a year after she’d been presumed dead.

One evening, three weeks after her arrival in Budapest, Kitty was sat at the desk in her room, summarizing her recent research for her contacts back home. It was difficult to admit that she’d made very little progress. She was mulling a sentence over in her head when the telephone rang. It was late into the evening, and she frowned. Perhaps it was the front desk. She picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Kitty?” Kitty recognized the voice immediately. Mr. Button, and the tone in his voice made Kitty frown. 

“Harold? Is something wrong?” She twisted the telephone cord around her index finger. On the other end of the line, she heard a shaky inhalation.

“Kitty, my dear, I’m afraid we’ve had some terrible news. The hybrid we were tracking, the one in Western Europe...a few days ago, it broke into a family home and killed everyone inside save one. The old woman wrote to us immediately. I’m told you knew them. The surname was Hyrnek?”

Kitty’s blood ran cold. “No,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, my dear-”

“And the young man? Jakob? Is he..?”

“Passed, I am afraid to say. It is a terrible tragedy.” Kitty’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. She searched herself for some kind of reaction, but inside she’d gone quiet and blank. “And I am so terribly sorry to tell you this, but there is more. The grandmother said that the creature knew your name. Kitty, my dear, we think it was looking for you.”

Kitty hung up the phone without responding. The rain drummed against the window. The radio murmured. All was as before in the slapdash little room. But he was gone. Dead. Jakob was dead. Her only friend, the only person she still cared for, was dead because of her.

Was this some sort of cosmic justice? A punishment for some deed she couldn’t remember? To have everyone she’d grown to love ripped away from her, one by one...but she couldn’t even feel outraged, couldn’t rail against the unfairness of it, because it was her  _ fault _ . The demon had wanted  _ her _ . Jakob and his family had only gotten in the way of the trail of destruction that had followed Kitty since she was thirteen years old.

Kitty stood up and then sat down slowly on the side of her bed. Now the tears were falling, but she still felt numb inside. It was like her body was grieving while she floated outside of it, detached. She clasped her palms together, trying and failing to stop the trembling. So this was how it was going to be. Kitty Jones, always a survivor, but always alone.

But there was one last thing she needed to do before giving up completely, something she’d been avoiding for a very long time.

She took her time getting her supplies out of her bag: chalk, old mint tins packed with incense, candles. The more she delayed, the longer she could hold out the hope - the delusion, really - that anything would come of this. She eyed the hardwood floor critically; it was uneven and splintery, completely inadequate for any real summoning, but she supposed it would do for her purposes. She chose the area that sloped the least and started sketching out her lines. Even though she’d kept the supplies on her, just in case (though in case of what she couldn’t have told you), she hadn’t used them in five years. She was surprised at how easy it all was; she’d memorized the steps so thoroughly that it was all muscle memory now.

Kitty sat back on her heels, inspecting the pair of pentacles she’d drawn, and then realized she didn’t have anything to put the candles on. Ah, well. If she dripped wax all over the floor, she could pay the hotel for the damages. She set out the rest of the necessary elements, and then felt around in her bag for the book of matches she kept there. One by one, she lit the candles with shaking hands, and then centered herself in her circle. One way or another, she supposed, things would be a lot different from this day forward. She closed her eyes and said the words.

Pulse pounding in her ears, Kitty counted out the seconds, each one taking an eternity to pass. She exhaled all the way, opened her eyes, and came face to face with...herself. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.

“Well, this is awkward,” said Kitty, throat dry. “One of us is going to have to change.”

The young woman in the pentacle opposite her cocked out a hip like a runway model, striking a pose. “It looks better on me and you know it.”

Kitty’s laugh was wild and hysterical. Her face was still covered in tears. “I knew you were alive,” she choked. “I knew it. I could  _ feel  _ it. I-” She cut off abruptly, swallowing. There was an odd look on her double’s face, something between pity and tenderness.

“Nathaniel wanted me to tell you hello,” said Bartimaeus. He’d shifted into an almost defensive posture, arms crossed over his chest. He looked as though he were cold.

“Melodramatic,” said Kitty. 

“Always,” Bartimaeus agreed.

“And then he dismissed you,” Kitty surmised.

“He did,” Bartimaeus confirmed. “Idiot.”

Kitty laughed again, a catch in her throat, and wiped her eyes. Then she took a single, deliberate step, out of her pentacle and toward Bartimaeus. His eyes glowed with simple appreciation, as though Kitty had given him some marvelous gift.

“You look like hell,” Bartimaeus said, smile fading. “No offense.”

There was none; Kitty suspected that was his way of showing concern. “My best friend is dead,” she said. “Jakob.”

Bartimaeus’s brow furrowed. “The stripey lad? Ah, that’s...too bad.” He rested his hands awkwardly on his hips for a moment, then seemed to think better of it and shifted. He became Ptolemy again, and the familiarity helped anchor both of them.

“He’s dead because one of the hybrids we haven’t caught was trying to find me. He’s dead. Everyone’s dead. And I didn’t know what else to do.” She gestured at the pentacles. The boy opposite her stepped out of his circle. “I truly am sorry,” he said. No jokes. Kitty’s pain was too great for that. She nodded, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, and it was only then that she began to sob. All at once, a pair of skinny arms were around her waist, and then she was slumping forward to weep against Bartimaeus’s shoulder as he held her gingerly. The small part of Kitty’s mind that wasn’t overwhelmed by the night’s events noticed that he seemed unused to the contact, and she desperately prayed she wasn’t overstepping his boundaries. A small hand patted the middle of her back; she was a good six inches taller than him, and the embrace was awkward.

Kitty lifted her head as soon as she could manage to stop heaving with grief. They both swayed slightly. “Thank you,” she rasped. “And sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said. Kitty stepped back nonetheless, out of his personal space and back into the realm of friendly but polite. 

“How long has it been?” asked Bartimaeus, looking around. “And where are we?”

“We’re in Budapest,” said Kitty, “and about five years.” 

Bartimaeus startled at that. “Five years?! You waited that long to summon me?”

Kitty suppressed a small smile at his ruffled feathers. “Oh, now he’s complaining about  _ not  _ being summoned?”

“If you were so certain I was alive, I would have thought you’d check on me a little sooner!” His indignation fell rather flat when he had to crane his neck to look her in the eye.

“I kept putting it off,” said Kitty. “If I was wrong, I didn’t want to know. I’m not sure what I would have done if you...”

“Found someone to beat up about it, no doubt,” said Bartimaeus confidently.

Kitty sighed. Now that the initial greetings were over, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Theirs was a strange sort of bond. They knew each other’s most secret memories, had crossed through fire for one another. And the number of times they’d spoken could be counted on two hands. Awe-inspiring bond aside, they knew almost nothing about each other.

Kitty sat down heavily on the bed, and Bartimaeus plopped down next to her, pulling his knees up to sit cross-legged. “Could you stay the night if it’s not too much trouble?” she asked.

“What, and watch you sleep?”

“I won’t sleep.” Kitty looked away.

“Alright,” Bartimaeus agreed. “A day or so is nothing as far as stints on Earth go, in case you were wondering,” he added.

“Still, you can leave whenever you want,” Kitty said.

“I intend to,” he said, examining his nails. “But I’ve only just got here. It would be rude of you to boot me out on my arse.”

Kitty chuckled, and she realized that, despite her tears, this was the most she’d laughed in months. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he was doing that on purpose. Hiding feelings that were too much to bear behind witty quips did seem to be a specialty of his.

The next four hours were spent like that, Bartimaeus providing quiet comfort as they filled the stuffy air of Kitty’s room with talk. There was a strange relief in being together, like something in Kitty had been quietly waiting for him all this time. Kitty didn’t much believe in the metaphysical, but she sometimes wondered what, precisely, she had absorbed when she’d visited the Other Place. Bartimaeus, for his part, was clearly glad to see her. He spoke at length, filling the silences that Kitty couldn’t, gesturing here and there as he thought of a good story to distract her with. And he was good at that, telling stories; he put words together with an artifice that he’d perfected over all the centuries of his long life.

At 12:28 a.m., Kitty got up to use the bathroom, and when she came back Bartimaeus had pulled the curtains back and was gazing out over the city. “So, this hybrid who killed your friend,” he said. “You said it was after you?”

“Jakob’s grandma survived, and that’s what she said,” Kitty offered, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“That’s our next task, then,” Bartimaeus said with a nod. “Track the bastard down and nip this in the bud.”

“Our?” Kitty repeated.

Bartimaeus turned to face her, hands on hips. “I know we haven’t known each other long, Kitty, but if you think I’m about to let some uppity abomination rip you into pieces, you have another thing coming.”

Kitty inhaled deeply. “Thank you,” she said, infusing the words with all the gratitude she felt. She was about to ask him how they should proceed - going to Jakob’s house to look for clues? Back to London to confer with the magicians? - when there came a frantic hammering on the door of Kitty’s room.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Someone smelled the incense. You should probably hide somewhere.”

Bartimaeus eyed the door with narrowed eyes. “Well, they’ve just heard you say that to me, so there’s not much point, is there?”

Kitty realized he was quite correct. “Alright, I’ll-”

“Hey! Lady! Open the door!” The voice on the other side of it whisper-shouted furiously. The voice spoke standard British English, no trace of a Hungarian accent. Kitty and Bartimaeus exchanged a wide-eyed look.

“I don’t think,” said Bartimaeus slowly, “that someone who wished you ill would bother knocking. And I definitely don’t think they’d be stupid enough to make this much noise.”

Kitty nodded.

“Coming,” she called, and crossed the room to obey. She turned the knob and pulled open the door just enough to reveal a foppish-looking blonde man, dressed in a silk nightgown that he’d pulled over a pair of fitted blue jeans. He looked a mess, sweaty and disheveled, and he tossed his curly hair back over his shoulders before taking a deep breath.

“Jones, yes? Excellent. I’ll make this brief: I’m here to warn you. There are a pair of spirits on your trail, a djinni and an afrit. They’re very cross with you and I don’t expect you’ll survive the encounter if they catch up. So you should leave now and move east. Go to Russia or someplace, and don’t leave a paper trail. Is that clear? Alright, I’m off-”

“Not a chance.” Bartimaeus, suddenly right behind Kitty, wrenched the door open all the way to reveal himself. The man in the hall startled slightly.

“Oh, a friend? How wonderful. Now, I should really be going-”

“Don’t play stupid. I know that you know what I am.”

“You’re a hybrid,” Kitty said to the stranger. It seemed Bartimaeus had reached the same conclusion.

“No, I’m not.” The man took a single sliding step away from the door. “That’s silly.”

Kitty could almost hear Bartimaeus rolling his eyes at her back. “Who else would know all of this? Also, you’re dressed like an idiot and your aura’s suspiciously strong for a human’s. Now, do you really expect us to just let you go without telling us who you are and what the hell you’re doing here?”

The blond man sighed theatrically and slumped forward. “You want me to kill your master for you, is that it? Well, I won’t. Sorry. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this whole ordeal, it’s the power of foresight. Kitty Jones is worth more to all of us alive than dead.”

“Oh,” said Bartimaeus. “I agree, actually.”

The stranger - the hybrid - lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It is so,” Bartimaeus said. Kitty glanced over her shoulder at him; he had taken a defensive stance, hands at his sides.

“If you’re telling the truth, then perhaps we might be of use to each other,” Kitty cut in. “You tell us more about your compatriots, and we don’t tell the British government what you look like.”

“That’s not a very nice way to treat someone who’s doing you a favor, darling,” said the hybrid. “But I can see your wisdom. I have precious few allies at the moment.” He stepped cautiously toward them. 

“Some favor,” said Kitty. “I already knew.”

The stranger’s face fell. “Oh,” he said. “Well, now I look a bit stupid, don’t I?”

“More than a bit,” said Bartimaeus. “Especially in that outfit. Did you get attacked by a secondhand store on the way over?”

The poorly-dressed spirit gave a shocked cry at the insult and pressed a hand against his chest; Kitty rubbed her temples. “Shall we get out of the hallway before someone calls the police?” she said.

“Oh,” said the hybrid. “Yes. It’s chilly out here, anyway.” Kitty noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Kitty and Bartimaeus moved aside, and their prospective ally wandered into the room. Kitty noticed that he smelled rather strongly of cheap wine. She shut the door and moved to sit on the bed, while their guest made himself comfortable on the floor, sprawled out like he was posing for a still life. “A hotel room summoning,” he said, examining the pentacles chalked on the floor. “Those are risky. There are all sorts of drafts, and you never know who might walk in on you. But maybe some people enjoy the thrill!” He giggled.

“Are you drunk?” Kitty asked, frowning.

“Of course I am,” he said, throwing an arm across his forehead. “Or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Disgraceful,” Bartimaeus said. “Look at how low you’ve sunk.”

“Shut up,” came the rejoinder. “This is why I stopped hanging around with other spirits. Preachy moralizers, all of you. None of you know how to have a good time.”

“What is your name?” asked Kitty. 

He hesitated for a moment. “To hell with it,” he said. “My given name is, unfortunately, In-the-Name-of-Jesus-Christ-Our-Savior-I-Rebuke-Thee.”

“Puritans,” said Bartimaeus. “You poor thing.”

In-the-Name-of-Jesus-Christ-Our-Savior-I-Rebuke-Thee nodded sadly. “Most call me ‘Reb’ for the sake of expediency.”

“That’s not much better, is it?” said Bartimaeus. “What about ‘Cos’? You know, ‘Christ-Our-Savior’.”

Reb frowned. “That makes me think ‘cosine’. What is your name? Can’t be worse than mine.”

“Hulagu,” Bartimaeus said smoothly.

“Mongolian?” asked Reb.

“Right on the money,” said Bartimaeus.

Kitty cleared her throat. “Why did you betray the rest of your conspirators?” she asked.

“Oh, yes.” Reb yawned. “I was never much interested in the revenge plot. It was the human body I wanted. And then things went tits-up, and I got out of there as fast as I could with three others. Moae they captured, and Cassia and Strigr were my travelling companions for some time. It’s been absolutely wonderful!” Reb threw his arms out to either side, smearing chalk absolutely everywhere. “But I started to get tired of them when revenge came up again. They kept talking about how they were going to hunt you down and cut off your limbs and gouge out your eyes and so forth. But I didn’t leave until they came home one day and told me they’d done something terribly rude in Belgium. So I decided to come here, Kitty, beautiful Kitty, to warn you.” He looked at her with enormous blue eyes, beaming. “You’re welcome,” he added, earnestly.

“Cassia and Strigr are the ones who killed Jakob,” said Kitty. Reb shook his head. “That was just Strigr,” he said. “Cassia kept watch.”

“I’ll kill him,” Kitty breathed. “I’ll make him  _ long  _ for the Essence Rack.” Bartimaeus covered one of her hands with his for a brief moment. She swallowed her rage. She needed to focus. If she got overwhelmed, she’d drown.

“Now, I’m certain they’ll be here soon,” said Reb. “The ones that Strigr killed, of course they told him where you are before they died. I only beat them here because they keep stopping to sleep. I’m not sure how long I’ve been awake, but I’ve already forgotten your name.” He gestured at Bartimaeus. “Probably a while! Ha ha!”

“But  _ why _ did you leave them?” Kitty asked. “I’m supposed to believe you don’t resent me for helping to kill your leader?”

“But I don’t,” said Reb. “ _ My leader _ , as you put it, was deranged. His second-in-command wasn’t much better. It’s for the best that you and that boy destroyed them.”

“They had help,” Bartimaeus said.

“Right,” said Reb. “The djinni. A tragedy, but so romantic. A tale for the ages! Oh, the poetry that will be written about their great deed!”

“Great,” said Kitty. “I’m glad you think it’s entertaining.” She stood and headed for the bathroom.

“But I didn’t think. Of course you must feel terrible. Survivor’s guilt and all.” Kitty considered punching him, but decided not to risk it. She could seethe about it later. She wet a washcloth in the sink and returned to scrub the floor clean.

“Move,” she said, nudging Reb with her foot like he was an irritating pet. He sighed and crawled three inches to the left.

“How exactly did it get out that you were involved, Kitty?” Bartimaeus asked.

Kitty sighed, bending to clean the floor. The chalk came off easily. “Harold Button,” she said. “I told him, and he told a few people, and before I knew it people were sticking cameras in my face and asking me questions. I’m lucky that a lot of people don’t believe it. The tabloid version is that I’m a madwoman.”

“That’s always how it is,” Reb said. “The true innovators are seen as crackpots, and the real lunatics are held up as geniuses.”

Bartimaeus nodded in agreement. “Why do you believe it?” he asked. “I would have expected most spirits to reject the part about the Other Place.”

“Just a feeling, really,” said Reb. “That and Kitty’s work. Her efforts impressed me, I will admit. I never would have expected to see a human advocating so passionately for our rights. Did you manage to hear that debate at Parliament? They broadcast it on the radio.” Kitty could feel Bartimaeus’s eyes on her. She’d told him that she’d dedicated time to the cause, but the details she’d set aside for later.

“I didn’t,” said Bartimaeus. “That sounds rather mad.”

“It was!” said Reb cheerfully. “But it made me realize how sincere you were, Kitty. You could have been arrested or worse for the things you said that day. The others thought you were courting controversy to gain power, but there’s no power to be had here. Your ideas are still wildly unpopular.”

“I’m well aware,” said Kitty, slightly out of breath. She folded the washcloth in half and checked for stray marks.

“Anyway, that’s why I wanted no part in this plan to punish you for killing Nouda. I’d rather see you take this as far as you can. Who knows? Maybe things will change.”

“You’re young,” said Bartimaeus. “You haven’t seen that many uprisings fail.”

“That doesn’t mean we should stop trying,” said Kitty.

Reb was looking at the clock on the desk. “We should really be leaving,” he said. “Cassia and Strigr can’t be far behind me, and I doubt the three of us will be able to take them on.”

“Which one is the afrit?” asked Bartimaeus, standing. Kitty followed him; she hurried to pack the candles and incense back into her bag. She’d had enough foresight to keep everything else packed in case she needed to leave quickly.

“That’s Cassia,” said Reb. He got to his feet on the third wobbly attempt. “She’s fun, but she has a hell of a temper.”

“Fun, eh?”

“Oh,” said Reb. “Yes. That’s why the three of us stuck together for so long. We enjoy the simple pleasures, you see. There’s a lot to enjoy about being human, and I want to experience all of it. Eugh, I think I’m starting to sober up.”

Bartimaeus took a pointed step away from him. "I hope you're enjoying experiencing a hangover."

“If you’re going to be sick, don’t do it in here,” said Kitty. “They’ll charge me for the mess.” She hoisted her travel bag over her shoulder and made for the door; the djinn followed.

“Wait,” said Bartimaeus, and dashed back to the window, throwing it open with a creak. “Incense smell,” he explained. “We don’t want them to know you summoned someone.”

“Good thinking,” said Kitty, and Bartimaeus beamed in response. It made her feel better about the fact that she hadn’t even thought about the smell. She’d gone soft around the edges in recent years. But, then, she had enough reasons to be frazzled. “Where are you going next?” she asked Reb, as they stepped out into the hallway.

“To find a bar,” he said. “And then to Paris, I think.”

Kitty nodded. “I’ll find you there if I ever need you."

“And where are you going?” asked Reb, as they descended the stairs.

“I don’t trust you that much,” said Kitty.

“Which is wise,” Bartimaeus added.

“Very well, my dear,” said Reb. “Then this is where we go our separate ways.” As they reached the lobby, he gave a flowery bow, turned on his heel, and power-walked past the front doors and out into the night. Bartimaeus and Kitty followed at a more moderate pace.

“It sure would be awkward if we turned out to be going the same direction,” Bartimaeus said, watching him go.

Kitty stopped and rummaged in her bag for a map. “We need to get to the train station,” she said. 

“And then where?” Bartimaeus asked.

“Romania,” said Kitty.

Bartimaeus cocked his head. “That’s not far at all,” he said. “Where after that?”

“We need to stay close,” said Kitty. “Just out of arm’s reach. I want to know where they are and what they’re planning so I can be on top of them when they least expect it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bartimaeus and Kitty boarded the first train to Bucharest, before the sun had risen above the horizon. Bartimaeus had shifted wordlessly into Nathaniel’s form on the walk over, and Kitty didn’t have it in her to ask him to shift back. What was one more piece of heartache for the day?

The two of them found an empty seat and Kitty sighed heavily as she relaxed. Part of her wanted to start crying again, but she was glassy-eyed with exhaustion and shock. She stared mutely out of the window at the washed-out greys of the sleeping city. The only thing for it was to keep moving. Still she thought of Jakob, his face, the smell of his mother’s cooking. She thought of his poor grandmother, left abandoned with no one to look after her. She would do whatever she could for her, Kitty decided.

“How old are you, by the way?” Bartimaeus asked suddenly, jarring Kitty from her thoughts.

“Twenty-three,” she said.

“Looking good for your age,” he said, elbowing her.

“So are you,” she said. “What creams do you use?”

Bartimaeus laughed. It was one of those things that was always the same - always his - regardless of what shape he happened to take. It pleased Kitty to think that there were things about him she might recognize in any of his guises. His grin was another one, and the wry way he arched his brow, and how he stood with his arms crossed, weight shifted to one side.

“I have to say,” he said, “you’re getting much better at banter. Of course, you  _ are _ learning from the best.”

“I heard you didn’t even have to fight Nouda,” said Kitty flatly. “You just quipped him to death.”

That one really seemed to tickle him; he let out a cackle and gave her a friendly jostle with his shoulder. Their awkward hug had made Kitty worry that touch was a boundary he didn’t enjoy crossing, but he seemed comfortable enough now. Kitty regarded him with fondness.

“You should probably sleep,” said Bartimaeus. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Kitty nodded. He was right; she’d been awake all night, and she felt the beginnings of a headache pinching at her temples. She slipped off the grey cardigan she’d been wearing, wadded it up, and pillowed it under her head. Despite her racing thoughts, she was asleep in minutes.

When she awoke, it was to the realization that there was a warm shoulder under her ear. She jerked upright, face blooming with heat, to Bartimaeus’s chuckle. “You should have woken me,” she said. “I could have moved.” Her makeshift pillow had fallen down between the seat and her lower back.

“What, and ruin your nap? I don’t mind being your pillow. I’ve been used as worse things.”

“I believe it,” said Kitty, rubbing the knots that had formed at the base of her skull. Nathaniel’s face grinned at her.

_ He looks absolutely nothing like Nathaniel.  _ That was the surprising thing. The face was perfect - of course it was perfect - but the way he used that face was so different. It made an ache bloom in Kitty’s chest. She’d half expected him to be able to bring Nathaniel back, she realized, if only for a time. Watching him, it began to settle with a desperate finality that she’d never known that boy, and she never would. It was strange, understanding how much of her idea of Nathaniel was made of air, built on could-have-beens. He’d been so young. They’d been almost the same age when he died. Now he looked like a child.

“Do you think he would have approved of my work?” Kitty uncrumpled her cardigan and slipped it back over her shoulders.

Bartimaeus paused, thoughtful. “Initially? Probably not. He had twelve years of indoctrination in his head. But he’d have come around. Especially if he had you to kick some sense into him.”

“I’d have kicked something into him,” Kitty said, and Bartimaeus laughed again, a little desperately this time.

“There’s something bothering me,” said Kitty, swiftly changing the topic. “Reb said that the other spirits knew where I was, that I’d come to Budapest. But Jakob and his family didn’t know what city I was in. I only told them I was in Hungary, just to be safe. So how did they find me?”

“You probably left a paper trail,” Bartimaeus mused. “A stamp with a regional design on it, the style of stationary you used - a lot of things could tip off someone who was really determined to hunt you down.”

“I wasn’t trained for this,” said Kitty. “International intrigue. I lived in one city for twenty years. I don’t know how to cover my footprints properly. Especially here, when everything is so much more out in the open.” Her own ineptitude frustrated her. It reminded her of just what the Resistance had been: a group of single-minded amateurs, nothing more.

“That’s true,” said Bartimaeus, crossing his arms. “The Magyars have always had their own way of doing things. Are there still hedge witches outside the main cities?”

“There’s an epidemic of them,” Kitty said. “There’s been a popular movement to return to their roots and pick up the Uralic traditions again.”

Bartimaeus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I won’t say ‘good for them’, of course, but if the right pieces fall into place, perhaps they’ll have a revolution of their own soon. I think we’re almost at the station.”

Kitty glanced out the window. He was right; they’d pulled into the city proper. “I don’t suppose you speak Romanian,” she said.

“I don’t, but we higher-order spirits have glossolalia, if you’ll recall. You did pick that up in your reading, didn’t you?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.” It was one of those details she’d learned and quickly discarded. The gift of tongues was one that many a magician had attempted to harness for themselves, always unsuccessfully. “So you’ll just know it?”

“Sort of,” Bartimaeus said. “The grammar and the vocabulary come easily. It’s the idioms that get you.”

The train pulled into the station. It was a small, utilitarian place, almost empty, and in the dawn light the sight of it made Kitty feel oddly lonely. She shuffled out onto the platform, squinting. “I need to find a hotel,” she said. “And some food, I suppose.”

Her travelling companion tapped a passing stranger on the shoulder. He was a slight, fair-haired man, and he regarded them with obvious irritation. “Ce?” he said.

“ Vă rog,” Bartimaeus said. “Cum ajungem la-”

“I speak English,” the man cut in. He spoke with a light accent.

“Ah,” said Bartimaeus. “In that case, where is the cheapest hotel you know of?”

The man gestured in a broad circle. “Take your pick,” he said. “The leu has crashed recently. Certainly you can stay wherever you like.” He shuffled off before Kitty could speak.

“Friendly,” commented Bartimaeus.

“How did he know we were foreign?” Kitty asked.

“Probably the clothes. It might also be the stink of toppled empire.”

Kitty adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Most of Europe resents us.” The man’s frosty demeanor hadn’t been lost on her, and it had stung.

Bartimaeus nodded. “They resent you, and now they think you’re weak. That’s a dangerous combination.” He made an elegant gesture that caught Kitty off guard. It was Nathaniel’s, she realized. “Let’s walk. I’m sure we can sort something out.”

They shambled into town. Kitty was more than a little trepidatious, but Bartimaeus seemed almost to enjoy the city. He pointed now and again to a piece of architecture and rattled off the possible influences. Kitty went first to the bank to change money, where Bartimaeus’s stilted Romanian was better-received, and then to the first hotel they stumbled upon, as Kitty’s second wind began to peter out. The walking had started to wear on her aged body. The building was a simple concrete slab, but inexpensive, and it was with gratitude that Kitty collapsed onto the queen-sized bed she’d paid for.

“You said something about food,” Bartimaeus prompted, watching her.

“Too much effort,” Kitty said. “I’ll eat when I wake up.” She rubbed her eyes.

“Now, I can’t have you getting all woozy,” he said. “Give me some money and I’ll go and fetch something.”

Kitty felt her stomach clench. “Absolutely not,” she said sternly.

“For Heaven’s sake. I retrieved Nefertiti’s anklet for the woman herself, and you think I can’t be trusted with a pastrami sandwich?”

Kitty sat up. Bartimaeus was Ptolemy again, standing with hands on hips. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that I…” She swallowed. “I’m not going to send you off to run errands for me. That you’re even here is more than I would have asked of you.”

The look on the Egyptian boy’s face softened. “There’s a difference between a chore assigned by a taskmaster and a favor done for a friend, you know,” he said.

Kitty sighed. “I do like pastrami,” she said tentatively.

Bartimaeus cracked his knuckles. “I’ll just get the money out of your bag.”

When Kitty woke hours later, there was a sandwich wrapped in paper on the nightstand and a djinni tucked up in the armchair in the corner of her room. She sat up, stretching. “I fell asleep,” she grumbled.

“Yes, I’d noticed.” She struggled to make out his face in the low light - he’d closed the curtains, she realized. She also noticed that she was incredibly hungry, and reached for the food that Bartimaeus had brought her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Now, those are words I don’t hear everyday. Don’t mention it.”

Bartimaeus tensed when she unwrapped her sandwich, as though he were expecting her to throw it back in his face. But, then, part of him probably was. That thought made it hard for Kitty to swallow the first mouthful.

“How is the pain?” Kitty asked.

He seemed surprised by her question, head cocked. “It’s only been a day,” said Bartimaeus.

“And?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about it until you brought it up.”

Kitty frowned. “Sorry,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s quite tolerable at this stage. Compare it to...oh, I don’t know. A persistent headache. You know, it’s strange. Simply knowing that I can leave makes it quite a lot less oppressive.”

Kitty swallowed another bite of sandwich. “That’s something,” she said.

“It’s more than you realize.”

The comment made her feel awkward. What long stretch of hell had Bartimaeus’s life been up to this point that such a thing seemed like a gift?

“While you were getting your beauty sleep,” he said quickly, “I did some thinking about how we should proceed.”

“Go on,” Kitty said, setting the crumpled paper back on the nightstand.

“By my reckoning, the best way to get these hybrids to give it up is to give them a line back to the Other Place. If we could find a way to dismiss them from their bodies, no doubt they’d go willingly. It’d be a lot easier than a fight, too.”

“Is that even possible?” Kitty asked, sitting forward on the bed. “Their summoners are dead, but they’re still here.”

“That’s true,” said Bartimaeus, “but it’s our best bet at the moment. Our other choice would be to see if the spirits in question have any enemies who might enjoy settling a score.”

There was a knot of ice behind Kitty’s navel. “The last time I summoned a spirit because I needed his help, I very nearly killed him.”

“Ah, but you didn’t! That’s the important thing.”

“It’s an awful thing to do,” said Kitty. “To risk someone’s life like that, even if they wanted to.”

“But it would be better than letting you die,” said Bartimaeus. The ferocity in his voice startled her.

“That’s Plan B, then,” she said. Having a plan was comforting. “As for Plan A, I’m going to contact Mr. Button. He might know where to start with something like this.”

“If there’s anyone who knows, it would be a scholar who lives in a hovel,” Bartimaeus agreed.

Kitty frowned, getting off the bed to use the phone on the room’s desk. “It’s not a hovel,” she protested as she dialed the familiar number. It was the only one she used with any regularity. She waited as the phone rang and rang.

“He has trouble getting to the telephone sometimes,” Kitty said. “Because of his-”

“Hello?”

“Harold,” said Kitty. “It’s Kitty.”

“Ah, Kitty! I did hope to hear from you after our last conversation.”

“Yes, I’m sorry for hanging up,” Kitty said. “You were right about that hybrid. He’s looking for me, and he has a companion. I had to leave Budapest.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I trust you can look after yourself. Still, I should hope you’re keeping a weapon with you,” he said.

Kitty glanced at Bartimaeus, who was rocking on his heels, putting on an elaborate show of boredom. “I am.”

“And where are you now?”

“Bucharest,” Kitty sighed into the receiver.

“Ah, Romania. You’re in vampire territory, you know. In 1392, there was one notable vampire who-”

“Harold,” said Kitty. “I’ve got to ask a favor.”

“Hmph,” he said. “Well, I suppose. You have had some difficult news recently.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to dismiss the hybrid spirits from their human bodies, but I don’t know where to begin. You have so much more experience than me. I need your help with the research.”

Mr. Button sighed. “I suppose my knowledge  _ is  _ being squandered these days,” he said gruffly. “I will do the best that I can. I can’t promise results, of course.”

“Thank you, Harold,” said Kitty. She exchanged a few more pleasantries before hanging up, then turned to the djinni who had started rummaging through her bag. “What are you doing?”

“Just looking for supplies,” he said. “What a chat. I was really getting bored.”

“It was two and a half minutes,” said Kitty.

“Time’s not real,” said Bartimaeus offhandedly. “What’s this?” He was holding a small plastic case.

“Lenses,” said Kitty.

“How did you get these?”

“Stole them, obviously,” she said.

Bartimaeus was beaming like a proud parent. “Of course you did.” He dropped the case back into her bag and stood.

“What time is it?” Kitty asked. There was no clock in her room. Bartimaeus peeled back the curtains to check.

“Sunset,” he observed. She’d slept all day.

“I could sleep more,” Kitty admitted. She’d regained much of her strength since her visit to the Other Place, but she still wore out much more easily than she liked. Anything quicker than a swift walk left her gasping for breath, and long days took her several more days to recover from.

“Leaving me all on my lonesome  _ again _ ,” Bartimaeus said, shaking his head.

“You could-”

“I’m not leaving,” he said sharply. “I can keep myself entertained, don’t you worry. That’s one of the benefits of having superior intelligence.”

“Even so, your essence must be starting to cramp from sitting inside all day,” said Kitty, and there was that look again, as though it were utterly bewildering to him that Kitty should care at all about any discomfort he might feel.

“I’ll go and do calisthenics on the roof if it gets to me,” he promised. Kitty snorted.

“There’s an image,” she said. She didn’t bother to undress; she simply collapsed back into bed, pulling the comforter over her body. She kept a silver knife tucked into her belt; this she removed and placed on the nightstand, within arm’s reach. Bartimaeus moved the curtain aside again to gaze out over the city. She closed her eyes and heard him humming a little tune as he wandered over to the armchair in the corner. The sound of him making himself comfortable, then changing position several times. Kitty was about to decide that she didn’t need the extra rest, actually, when she heard the sound of four small feet hitting the carpet. Kitty opened her eyes in time to see a small fluffy cat leaping onto the bed beside her.

“You know,” he said, triangular ears twitching, “I should really stay within arm’s reach. Just in case.” The cat curled up at her side and stretched, kneading the bedspread with its front paws. It was adorable, a thought that Kitty judiciously kept to herself.

“Goodnight, Bartimaeus,” she said.

“Sweet dreams,” he replied.

Kitty fell asleep slowly this time, a gradual easing away from her body and into the realm of dreams. She dreamt of the Other Place, of shifting emptiness and bright spots of color, but this time she felt no fear. She could vaguely sense that Bartimaeus was with her, although they didn’t speak. She didn’t need to see him to recognize him; she knew his presence as surely as she knew the back of her own hand. She was deeply comfortable, suspended in time.

Morning came quicker than expected.

Kitty woke, heart pounding, to find herself being vigorously jostled.

“Kitty,” Bartimaeus hissed, “someone is here. We’ve got to leave-”

Something was clanking on the fire escape outside. Bartimaeus cursed. Kitty sat up quickly, head spinning. Her body protested; she was still so tired from the trip from Budapest. She tried to settle her mind. Her knife. Yes, on the nightstand. There was a low muttering outside the window. She reached across-

Bartimaeus was dragging Kitty off of the bed and into his arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but then his warm, dry palm was clamping hard over her mouth. She gave a muffled yelp in surprise. What was he doing? They already knew she was here! What did it matter if she screamed? He was Ptolemy again, but Bartimaeus handled her as though she weighed nothing, clutching her against his chest. She strained to see his face, but it was too dark to make out anything more than the flash of his eyes. For a brief moment, he paused, calculating. Two shadows grew long against the gauzy material of the curtains. Then the glass door that led out onto the small balcony attached to her room exploded.

Three figures were illuminated in the moonlight.

Two of them were human, or something close, one man and one woman. It was too dark to make out the details, but one was hunched forward as if about to drop to its hands and knees. It was a feral, unnatural posture, and it made Kitty’s heart leap into her throat, enough to incite panic if the break-in hadn’t. Between the two of them was a beast.

It was the biggest, hairiest werewolf that Kitty had ever seen. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, desperate for her life, lashing out as the wolves bit and snapped at her, knowing she was going to die. The wolf’s teeth glinted in the moonlight; it snarled. They were blocking their main exit, Kitty realized, as Bartimaeus clutched her to his chest. They could try to go downstairs, but Bartimaeus would be slow and clumsy while carrying Kitty. Her  _ knife _ . Why hadn’t she kept it on her body? Of course, she hadn’t counted on being immobilized like a swaddled child!

Bartimaeus produced a very creative combination of expletives. Kitty agreed with him.

She thought he might choose the hallway after all, but Bartimaeus thought better of it. Five thousand years and hundreds of near-death experiences had taught him otherwise. Two feathered wings sprung from Ptolemy’s shoulders, flicking into existence with ease, and the boy leapt to the right and lunged, bowling over the woman in the window in his frantic bid for escape. The man lashed out with a bolt of blue-green magic that bounced off what Kitty supposed must have been Bartimaeus’s Shields. He’d cleared the remains of the window. He leapt onto the railing, preparing for flight, when the wolf lunged at them, sinking its teeth into the djinni’s wing.

He shouted in pain, but he leapt anyway, Kitty cradled like a child, wings spreading. Kitty’s heart plummeted. The wolf clung to the left wing, right next to the shoulder, and Bartimaeus let out snarls of pain and rage as he managed to exert enough energy to propel them all skywards. He was still covering Kitty’s mouth, his thumb clamping around her jaw hard enough to hurt. They just escaped a jet of purple light that shot over Bartimaeus's right shoulder. Something was running in rivulets out of Bartimaeus’s wound and over his shoulder, wetting Kitty’s cheek. The animal was close enough that Kitty could smell its stink: like wet dog mixed with hot metal. Kitty twisted in Bartimaeus’s arms; with the extra weight on one side, he couldn’t stop her. 

Bartimaeus’s left arm was in her way, but Kitty’s fist collided with the wolf’s jaw with enough force to make it whine around the flesh in its mouth, and its edges flickered, shape distorting. It pawed at the body of the Egyptian boy, who grunted in pain, and when Kitty’s fingers closed around the creature’s throat, it shifted altogether: a woman, skinny and pale, clutching at Bartimaeus with her hands. The woman screamed.

“Landing!” Bartimaeus shouted through gritted teeth. They were at the city limits - he’d moved fast - and it was with no grace that he plowed into an empty field, rolling twice to dispel the momentum. Kitty went right; the werewolf went left.

Kitty’s knees burned where they’d scraped against the cold earth. She struggled to her feet, legs shaking violently. She’d pushed too far. She looked around frantically, eyes settling on her attacker. The naked woman sat on the ground, eyes wide and dark. She looked at Bartimaeus, then at Kitty, teeth pulled back into half a snarl. Then she slowly licked her lips.

“Hello, Kathleen,” said Jane Farrar.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, i'm back! and this might end up being 5 chapters instead of 4 because i want them all to be roughly equal in length and i've got a lot of plot left.

Naked, bruised, and with her formerly long hair hacked into a ragged pixie cut, I almost didn’t recognize the distinguished Jane Farrar. Of course, the werewolf thing was a big clue. Farrar was, as far as I knew, the only female werewolf in Europe.1 Now she crouched on the ground, looking half-feral, and I suspected it had been some time since she’d returned to her human shape. I examined her on the seven planes. Aside from her bog-standard human aura, barely visible through Kitty's supernova, I saw nothing. No lurking spirit slaves, no active spells. Dirty, disheveled, and in her birthday suit, I doubted that she was in any position to be performing any hasty summonings, either. I have to admit, Farrar had surprised me; she’d always struck me as the sort of woman who couldn’t survive a week without access to a hairdryer and somebody to rub her feet. Evidently I’d been wrong. She fixed her feverish eyes alternately on Kitty and on myself, scanning, trying to predict our next move. I, for my part, folded back my wings, wincing at the raw ache where the wolf’s teeth had torn at me. I was going to get her back for that one.

Kitty, who had impressively managed to roll several meters without breaking a hip, was standing shakily. The past day and a half had been agonizing for her. When all of this was through, she would need a long vacation. One train of thought thus tied up in event planning, I returned my attention to our adversary. Though I was tempted to give her a piece of my mind, it occurred to me that she had no idea who I was, and I wanted to keep it that way.

That in mind, I allowed Kitty to speak first. “Farrar,” she spat. “Of course you’re working for them. Of course! No allegiances among magicians, are there?”

Farrar chuckled, getting to her feet. “You speak harshly of magicians,” she rasped, “but you are all too happy to avail yourself of their services, aren’t you? I can only assume this is a demonic slave that one of your betters has tasked with protecting you.” She gestured to me. It was a fortunate thing that she’d never seen me as Ptolemy; it meant that my cover remained safely intact, provided I could hold my tongue.2

“I am no such thing,” I said. It came out sounding a good deal prissier than I had hoped, but I _had_ spent time in Nathaniel’s form earlier. 

“You killed Jakob,” said Kitty. Now that the surprise was wearing off, anger took its place. Her hands were balled into fists; she trembled with mounting rage. “You _killed_ my best friend!”

“The boy?” Farrar stretched, popping something in her back. “That was not my fault. Demons are flighty and impatient creatures. They refused to wait. It was foolish and crude, and they learned nothing.”

“Liar,” said Kitty. She moved closer; she raised a hand. “Liar!” Farrar caught Kitty’s wrist before the punch could connect.

“Why should I lie?” She dropped Kitty’s arm, licking a single pointed canine. “I tried to kill you. But I have no interest in taking credit for deaths that were not my doing.” It was sound reasoning.

“You’re still at fault,” Kitty choked out. “You helped them. You’ve been helping them all along!”

“Why _is_ that, anyway?” I butted in. “Of all magicians, I thought that you were most loyal to the institution. Did you just get bored of office meetings, or have you gone totally mad?”

Farrar laughed, and her eyes burned with fervor. Madness was looking more and more likely. “I will tell you. I am not ashamed of it. After Nouda fell, the hybrids abducted me. They had hoped to use me as a hostage, but they bided their time and lost interest in that plan. By the time they saw fit to release me, I no longer wanted to go.” She rubbed her upper arms, but I couldn’t tell if she was cold or just very excited. “I thought I understood power. I thought it came down to control: of oneself and of others. But I was so unbelievably wrong. They’ve shown me how to stop hiding myself. These last few years, I have never felt so _free_.” There was indeed a wild lack of restraint about her. It’s a trait you don’t often see in magicians, who are schooled from birth in the art of repression. 

“So they managed to crack that pretty porcelain mask of yours. What did they see in you, I wonder?” I asked.

Farrar dropped her arms. “I am not nearly so useless as some might think.”

“These spirits _hate_ humans,” Kitty said shortly. “They wil kill you the minute they grow bored of you.” 

" _Spirits_ ,” said Farrar, smiling vacantly. “How twee. We aren’t talking about friendly little sprites, Kitty. Dispense with the euphemisms. These are _demons_.”

“Fine! That only makes my point stronger. If you hate them so much that you can’t even call them by the proper terms, then how could you work alongside them? How could you go along with their plans? How little do your fellow human beings mean to you?”

Farrar’s eyes were empty behind the frozen smile. “I’ve always done what I need to do to survive,” she said. “It is ugly. I won’t pretend I don’t see that. But these demons have their own charms; I won’t lie. Our relationship has proven to be a surprisingly intimate one.” That was unexpected. And creepy.

“Hang on a minute,” I said. “That’s how the hybrids tracked Kitty down! You’ve been checking in with the government so you could feed them information. Everyone thought you’d simply lost it; no one expected you to turn traitor.”

Farrar tilted her head. “I was a traitor before,” she said. “A traitor to my own nature. Not anymore.”

She had a point, was the thing. For all that they have free will, magicians are themselves shackled in a very different way. Their drive for power and thirst for control stifles them. Dress like this, speak like so, never let them know how you feel. It’s no surprise that many of them crack under the pressure.

“Philosophy aside,” I said, “you do realize that once Kitty Jones has been eliminated, you’ll be dead weight.”3

She shook her head. “I have skills of my own,” she said. “As you just saw. The demons alone would have lost you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I said, slowly and clearly. “They _hate humans_. All of you. They don’t want you around; they only need you to get to Kitty. Once she’s gone, merely being sort of useful won’t be enough.” I pointed to a large, yellowing bruise on her hip. It was a funny starburst shape, which meant that it was magically inflicted. “They did that, didn’t they? They’ve been losing their tempers with you. And they’re stronger than you are, lycanthropy or no.”

“I have spent years alongside them,” said Farrar.

“I’m a djinni,” I said. “I know how their minds work. You’d like to think that you can control them even now, but you can’t. They will kill you, and then they will eat your corpse, just like they did to that family.”

Farrar licked her teeth, shivering. Then she giggled, a wild, hysterical sound. “It matters little,” she said. “I can’t go back to the way I was before. Perhaps they’ll kill me. Perhaps not. I don’t fear death any longer. I will not rush into its arms, but if it comes, let it come.”

“You don’t care,” said Kitty. Her tone was accusatory.

Farrar’s eyes were glassy. She shook her head slowly.

“Is that why you let them go to Jakob? Is that why you didn’t stop them?”

“I warned them against it. They didn’t listen to me. What else could I do?” 

“I…” Kitty kicked at the dirt. “I don’t know! Something!” 

“It seems that the hybrids are at the center of this,” I said. “You’re a pawn, Farrar. Shoe is on the other foot now, eh?”

Kitty was looking at the bruise on Farrar’s hip. “I should kill you for what you’ve done.”

Farrar blinked. “But will you?”

“You’ve been with the hybrids since the rebellion.”

“I have.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I did.”

“But you didn’t have anything to do with...with Jakob.”

“I told you,” said Farrar. “I didn’t.”

Their eyes locked. “Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Kitty sighed heavily. She crossed her arms. “If you ask me, you deserve what’s coming to you,” she said. I nodded in cheerful agreement. “But I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t leave anyone behind to be torn apart by monsters.” My nodding turned into a frantic shaking of the head.

“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re not taking her with us.”

“We could use her. She’s a magician.” 

“Which makes her dangerous. It isn’t worth the risk!”

“We can tie her up and make sure she doesn’t do anything with her hands.”

“I want nothing to do with you, you filthy commoner,” Farrar spat. 

“Mate,” I said, “you are literally coated in dirt.”

“I don’t know how to get rid of the hybrids without help. I wish it were not so, but it is.” Kitty’s eyes had that cold, determined look that I was now so familiar with. Her journey to the Other Place had only strengthened her character; I detected in her now an immovable resolve. “We can decide what to do with her later. But if she truly did nothing to Jakob...I can’t leave her to _them_.”

It wasn’t altogether surprising that she thought this way. Of course I remembered how she’d intervened when Nathaniel had been at the mercy of a golem, and he had personally tried to destroy her life. Evidently protecting lunatic magicians was a hobby of Kitty’s. It was very foolish, of course, but there was something admirable about her relentless compassion, hidden though it often was behind fire. That being said, I knew enough about Jane Farrar to see that we’d be in serious trouble if we lost control of her for even a minute. She was a formidable magician and a formidable lycanthrope and I wanted her nowhere near us.

“It would be foolish to give her back to her handlers, but even more foolish to keep her with us. She’s a liability. The only reasonable choice is to kill her now.” I lifted a hand.

Farrar gave a long snarl of rage and fear. She rose up onto her tip-toes, and I anticipated having to play dog catcher before long. It was now or never. I leapt forward; the skinny naked woman blurred at the edges as her skeleton stretched and restructured itself. There was a smell like burning metal and a feral howl as Farrar bared her yellow canines. I tackled the wolf to the packed earth with more strength than my current form hinted at. She clawed at me, but I had the advantage; my essence stayed safely out of rending distance. I spoke a word. A coil of silver-black substance began to twine itself around the four thrashing limbs. The Binding only grew tighter the more she struggled. This method took a bit more out of me than ordinary rope, but rope wasn’t likely to hold someone who could shapeshift. Of course it would have been far easier to rip the flesh from her bones. But somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, not with Kitty standing right there, pleading for the life of the woman who’d tried to murder her.

Kitty watched all of this with approval. “Nice work.”

I beamed at her. “Why, thank y- _ouch!_ ” I’d allowed myself to get a tad distracted by the praise; one of Farrar’s paws swiped my calf, narrowly breaking the skin. I had had just about enough of this. I poured all the energy I could muster into my Bindings, and Farrar yelped as they tightened around her like the coils of a snake.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “I get the impression that you don’t quite understand what your options are here.” Farrar spat; I pinned her with a bit more force. The ground was cold and hard, even through her dense pelt. No doubt it would be causing her a good deal of discomfort. “You tried to kill a friend of mine. Up until now, I’ve been very polite about that. But if taking you with us is going to be more trouble than it’s worth, I would very much enjoy tearing off your limbs and eating your still-beating heart from your chest.”

The wolf went still.

“Sinking in now? Yes, those are your choices: come quietly or meet your maker.” 

“It’s best to come quietly, Jane,” Kitty added, folding her arms. “I have no power over this djinni. I can’t stop him tearing out your entrails.” 

Farrar shuddered and let out a resigned whimper. The smell of burning metal came again, stinging in the back of the mouth. Farrar’s shape flickered and elongated as she returned to her human form. My Bindings slackened and tightened appropriately; no change in size would free her. “I submit,” she said. Well, that was disappointing.

“Good choice,” said Kitty. She walked over to stand over the trussed woman, frowning. “What shall we do with her now? Are you going to have to carry her?”

I considered. Now that the excitement had died down, I realized that I was weary. Carrying a grown woman appealed to me not at all. “Let us make another agreement,” I said. “I will unbind you and allow you to walk on your own. But if you try to run, I will get you with a Detonation to the back. No hesitation, no more moralizing, just a shower of giblets. Does that sound fair to everyone?”

“It does,” said Kitty.

Farrar curled her lip. “Fine,” she said. “I agree.” I raised a hand. My Bindings dissolved into nothing. She stretched and got unsteadily to her feet. I waited to see if she would attack me anyway; she didn’t. That was smart. Though werewolves can be powerful, they’re most effective in packs. Alone, I would be able to take her easily. If she got within biting distance, I could simply blast her away with a spell.

“Next problem,” I said. “We can’t go back to the city tonight, and it’s going to take hours to get anywhere else habitable. I see there’s a decent-sized road over there.” I pointed to the horizon, where the road in question was dimly visible like a line of greasepaint. “I suggest we find shelter, and in the morning we hitch a ride out of here.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Kitty.

“Shelter where?” Farrar wrinkled her nose. “In this field?”

“Much as I’d enjoy watching you sleep on the ground, no. This used to be a farm. If you’ll look…” I pointed to the other side of the field we were in, where the dilapidated remains of a barn could be seen slumped to one side. Kitty squinted into the dark.

“Where?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake. You humans and your feeble eyes. Just follow me.”

I took the lead, making sure that my captive stayed within Detonating distance. I kept a close eye on Kitty, too. She staggered a little between her weakness and her bare feet, but she was so much stronger than she’d been when last I’d seen her. It pleased me to see her in good health. Farrar was not at all stymied by the dark, stepping deftly over and around obstacles; her irises shone yellow like an animal’s.

We reached the barn without incident, and I cast a small Illumination near the floor, just enough to add dim lighting to the space. I didn’t want to draw undue attention. Carefully we crept inside. The hollow cavity that had once been a building was cold and smelled of rot, but it had a roof and the boards seemed in good enough shape that we wouldn’t be risking a cave-in. A stack of burlap sacks mildewed in the corner.

“Well, it’s not the cheeriest, but it’ll do,” I said. Kitty nodded.

“I have a question, Jones,” said Farrar, glancing around.

“What?”

“You put a lot of trust in this djinni,” she said. “And did I hear it call you its friend? Why on earth is that?”

“ _He_ ,” Kitty corrected. “And that’s none of your business.”

“It would be odd,” she said, “for you to chastise me if it were the case that you yourself have a peculiar attachment to a demon.”

“Shut up,” said Kitty. 

“ _This_ demon hasn’t tried to raze your city to the ground,” I pointed out. “And I know the concept of friendship must be new to you,” I said. “But as it turns out, Kitty and I get on.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said. “The late Mandrake and his demon had a similar…” Farrar trailed off, her eyes narrowing. “Wait a moment,” she said.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I said quickly. I was too late; Farrar lunged at me and poked her nose into the side of my neck, inhaling. “Augh! _Stop_ that!” I batted her away.

“It is you!” Farrar crowed. “ _You!_ I recognize your scent!”

“I know you werewolves think that’s a normal thing to say, but it’s creepy as-”

“I knew I recognized your unsavory disposition! Bartimaeus!”

I winced. “Alright, yes, it’s me. Well done.”

“I should have known Mandrake would be too besotted to allow you to die. His regard for you was truly bizarre.”

“ _What?_ ” said Kitty.

“His _what now?_ ” I echoed. This I had to hear.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t remember it, being as you were on the brink of death.” There was a hint of cruelty lurking behind Farrar’s smirk. “It was so pitiful. There you were, dying, with vital information. Mandrake, rather than extracting that information from you at once, decided to dismiss you! He was concerned for your _life_. You ought to have seen the look on his face, all doe-eyed! As though you were an injured puppy!”

Kitty looked stricken. “What did he _do_ to you?”

“Wasn’t him, really. I got into a scrap with a few enemy djinn.”4

“But if he hadn’t weakened your essence already…”

I waved a hand. “There was that, yes. But you say that he dismissed me because he _cared?_ ”

“It was clear to me,” said Farrar. “You were not merely his slave: he saw you as an ally. Which brings me to another question. Are _you_ the demon who merged with Mandrake to lay Nouda to rest?”

Somehow this particular glory rang a bit hollow. “I am,” I said.

“I see,” she said. “First him, and now Jones. You’ve been broken in. That’s quite difficult with djinn, but once it’s done, they will do anything to make you happy.” Something cold settled in the pit of my stomach and spread slowly through my essence.

“Is that so?” I said.

Farrar smiled mysteriously. “My Yole was like you, Bartimaeus. A bit simple, soft around the edges. He grew fond of me, the stupid creature. It didn’t serve him in the end. It never does.”

Kitty jerked forward. She slammed her foot into the notch behind Farrar’s knee, and she fell to the dusty wooden floor, yelling. 

“You’re disgusting,” said Kitty coldly. Farrar jumped to her feet and whirled around, but I raised a threatening hand.

“Giblets, dear Jane,” I reminded her through pointed teeth. She stood still, breathing hard. “I am not surprised that the djinni you subjugated was destroyed,” I said. “He made a poor choice. _Some_ humans are different. _You_ are just a mutt.”

Farrar scowled at me. “Do _not_ call me that. I’m warning you, demon.”

“Oh, does it upset you to be called names on the basis of something you can’t control? Then perhaps you ought to stop throwing around the d-word like it’s going out of style.”

“If it will stop your _whinging,_ I shall.”

“Then I’ll endeavor not to call you a mutt, or a cur, or a bitch, or anything of the sort.” I lowered my hand.

“Watch yourself.”

“Consider me watched.” I made my way over to the stack of burlap I’d noticed earlier and peeled back the top few layers. Sure enough, the ones underneath were mostly mold-free, albeit stiff and crumbly. I tugged one loose and used a claw to rip a hole in one end, and two more in the sides. This I presented to Farrar, who wrinkled her nose.

“What’s this?”

“Clothes,” I said. “Put it on.”

“You must be joking.” 

“You can’t stay naked forever,” said Kitty. “Someone will call the police.”

Grumbling, Farrar pulled the impromptu dress over her head. The sight of the formerly elegant magician in a literal potato sack did wonders to cheer me up after a tumultuous night.

“There you go,” I said. “That’s much better. I was starting to go blind.”

Farrar folded her arms across her chest. “What do you expect to do now?”

“Bartimaeus was saying that the best way to neutralize the hybrids would be to find a way to dismiss them from their bodies,” said Kitty. “You’re going to help me with research.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because we have so graciously spared your life,” I said, “and because if you don’t I’ll blow you up.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but did not argue further. Farrar picked a spot on the far side of the barn and curled up on the floor, catlike, with her back to the wall. Kitty sat down opposite her, leaning against the mealy wood. I snuffed out my Illumination before taking my place beside her. She was shivering with only the thin cardigan to keep her warm.

“Do you want me to use a spell to make it warmer in here?” I asked.

“Too risky. I don’t want the hybrids sensing anything if they’re close. I‘ll live.”

“Alright, then. Here.” I shuffled closer and slipped an arm around Kitty’s shoulders. She stiffened briefly, and then relaxed against me.

“You’re warm,” she said.

“I’m a being of air and fire,” I said. “I run hot.”

Farrar opened her eyes. I could see them glinting in the dark. “If you’re going to flirt, I _am_ leaving, and I don’t care if you kill me.”

“Trust me,” I said. “If I was flirting, I’d have a better line.” Kitty snorted and leaned into my side. I was reminded suddenly of the only other human I’d ever allowed to get this close. Ptolemy had not been especially touchy, but at times I’d take the shape of a great lion, and he would lean against my flank while he scribbled on his papyri. I remembered this feeling: warmth and comfort. Both all too rare for my kind, but I found them there in that grotty barn, despite the day’s events and despite the gradually growing ache in my essence. As the humans drifted off to sleep, I allowed myself to enjoy that feeling. Though I remained alert enough to keep watch, memories came and went unbidden like the drifting of the clouds across the sky. I recalled lazy afternoons with Ptolemy, notable moments in my service of Gilgamesh, even a few less-than-horrid days with Nathaniel. When dawn came, I was replaying for myself my epic battle against Ammet the Devourer under King Solomon of Israel.5

Farrar shifted restlessly on the floor. This woke Kitty, who stirred against me. Both of them looked the worse for wear in the pale morning daylight, streaked with dirt and with bags under their eyes. At least Kitty had on proper clothes. Farrar looked like she was playing the role of ‘peasant’ in a stage play.

“Morning,” Kitty croaked. She straightened up, stretching, and I did the same. I was stiff and more than a little sore from hours of stillness in the same form, so I got to my feet and made a swift change. I became a middle-aged woman of remarkable beauty: she had high cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes that were hard with determination, but also seemed to sparkle with mischief. Her skin was dark and even, save for a few freckles playing around her chin and shoulders. The woman’s hair was piled into a stylish updo; she wore a loose white cotton sundress that accentuated her shapely form. On a whim, I added a pair of dangly earrings that drew attention to her long neck.

“Who is that?” Kitty asked. “Someone you knew?”

“Surely you must be joking,” I said. My voice had a low, musical quality. Kitty stared blankly. 

“It’s the clothes, isn’t it? No one recognizes her without the headdress. This is Nefertiti.” It had been a while since I’d taken her form. I filled in a few moles and wrinkles that I’d nearly forgotten.

“Huh,” said Kitty. “She’s very pretty, but from the way she’s written about, you’d think she some indescribable beauty.”

“What?” I glanced down at my form to make sure we were seeing the same person. “She _was_.” 

A knowing smile crept onto Kitty’s face. “Okay,” she said. “I see.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Help me up.” I took Kitty’s hand and hoisted her to her feet. Farrar was watching us from across the room, leaning against the wall. She was uncharacteristically quiet, no doubt plotting her escape.

“Now, there’s no way to avoid some suspicion,” I said, “so if anyone asks why it looks like I’ve just picked you two out of a gutter, you went out drinking and had a rough night. You got lost but I managed to find you.”

Kitty’s brow furrowed. “Is anyone going to believe that?”

“It won’t be the stupidest thing English tourists have done in this town,” I said. “Trust me. Let’s go.”

We moseyed out into the morning with our eyes peeled. I’d given Nefertiti some combat boots, so I and my practical footwear once again took point while the others slogged behind me. It was a quiet trip, and I suspected that exhaustion and resentment had snuffed out any urge to bicker. That was fine by me. I needed to think about how we were going to get to safety.

My initial thought had been to flee the city and possibly the country, but that was what we’d be expected to do. In addition to that, it would take us days to reach another city that was large enough to have the kind of library we needed. I decided reluctantly that to stay in Bucharest was our best bet for now, and I kept my eyes open for a car driving back the way we’d come. It was early yet, and I’d seen nary a one by the time we made it to the side of the road and Kitty sat down in the dirt to catch her breath. Evidently this wasn’t a major route into or out of the city: the pavement was cracked in places and grass grew through. It was drastically different from the densely populated area we’d just left, a sharp delineation between urban and rural.

“Splendid plan,” said Farrar. “Let’s just stand here until someone comes or one of us dies of dehydration.”

“Someone will come,” I said. “It’s early still. The dawn has barely broken.”

“Have you been to Romania before?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then you have no way of knowing that. I don’t know why you’re allowing it to call the shots, Jones. We may well be killed by its foolishness.”

“ _His_ foolishness,” said Kitty.

“There is no foolishness!” I said. “We’ve a perfectly reasonable plan. Give it a few hours and we’ll be back in the lap of...well, not luxury, but...”

“How?” asked Farrar. “Neither of us have papers with us, nor money. The best we can hope for is to find a shadowy overpass to sleep under.”

“Don’t doubt me, girl,” I said tetchily. “I’ve gotten humans out of far stickier situations than this one.”6

“Right,” said Farrar, and I saw that flash of cruelty again. “Just as you saved-”

“ _Hei!_ ” I leapt forward into the road, and directly into the path of an oncoming car that had snuck up while we were arguing. It was a gray van, old and dented - clearly not a magician, which was what we needed. The car came to a reluctant halt. Behind the windshield was a young blonde woman wearing a pair of sunglasses that had been repaired with scotch tape. She looked at us with deep suspicion. I approached the window of the driver’s side, and she rolled down the window. The woman had a severe face behind the oversized glasses, and she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. It was then that she noticed my less than well-dressed companions, who were hobbling onto the pavement. “Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” I said. “We just need a ride into Bucharest. Can you take us?”

The woman looked doubtful. “This one is not wearing any clothes.”

I glanced down, doing my best to look embarrassed. “They were out late last night,” I said. “Had a bit too much vodka, you know how it is, and things got out of control. It’s the craziest story. It all started when-”

“I will take you,” she said. And so it goes: when in doubt, it’s often possible to bore people into doing what you want.

“You’re so kind,” I said, smiling beatifically. I walked around to the passenger side and got in the front; Kitty and Farrar climbed in the back. I glanced back and shot them a dazzling smile tinged with I-told-you-so before turning to our driver.

“So,” I began. “It all started with a farmer and a hacksaw…”

By the time I’d finished winding my tale, which was rich with twists and witty dialogue, the woman had warmed to us considerably and was hanging on my every word, laughing in all the right places. In my blind panic, I’d managed to fly us farther than expected the previous night, and it took a good while for us to come to the city limits.

“Where do you want me to leave you?” asked the blonde. I twisted in my seat.

“Kitty, what was the name of the hotel?”

“Hotel Elizeu,” she said. Then she leaned forward to put her lips to my ear. “Should we really be going back?” she whispered.

“We need your things,” I reminded her quietly. “ _They_ will be long gone.”

Fifteen minutes, and the woman in the driver’s seat pulled up in front of the hotel. “Be safe,” she said.

“You, too,” I said. “Toodles!” We got out of the car, attracting more than a few odd looks from the passersby. Quickly I herded my cargo into a small alcove next to the hotel’s entrance.

“Okay, kids,” I said. “Your next lesson is in how to avoid paying for property damage.”

* * *

1 Not that female werewolves are any less effective, but modern-day Westerners have some bizarre ideas about gender and combat. I’ve used this to my advantage more than once, sauntering up to some general or other in the shape of a pretty young girl and then shanking him in the heart.

2 Yeah, yeah. I know. Stop laughing.

3 I’d sooner have taken a cheese grater to my essence than allow that to happen, of course. I was just trying to rattle her.

4 I was fibbing a bit here, but my encounter with the foliots was hardly indicative of my true power. Look, it was just a little lie and it didn’t hurt anyone. 

5 It’s a great story. I’ll have to tell it to you sometime.

6 Literally, too. Jam can be surprisingly dangerous in the wrong hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Jakob. Sacrificed to the plot gods. Anyway, this is going to be the first in a series of two multi-chapter (!) stories. No shipping in this one, but I can't make any promises about the other one. And please do let me know if any of the names I came up with mean something really embarrassing in a language I don't speak.


End file.
